‘Very good, Charlie. I’m impressed. What else?’
‘No obvious injuries,’ she said, ‘he may as well have died in his sleep.’
‘If he did, he was having a nightmare,’ said Munro. ‘You’d best come round this side and take a look at his face.’
West, grinning like the Cheshire Cat, nipped around the car and stood next to Munro.
‘Cripes,’ she said, struck by his twisted, pained expression. ‘Scary.’
‘Remind you of anyone?’
‘Yeah. Angus Buchanan. In the back of Dubrowski’s cab.’
‘Indeed. We seem to have a monopoly on finding folk who refuse to pay their fare. Either way, I’ll wager once they’ve had a rummage around his innards, they’ll find a fair smattering of meth. Enough to induce a stroke and a cardiac. Just like Buchanan.’
‘Okay,’ said West, pulling her phone from her belt, ‘I’ll get Duncan over and ask him to get this sorted.’
Munro, eyes glued to the dormant Jazz, stood motionless for a moment and raised his hand, hesitating as his brain cranked into overdrive.
‘Call Dougal first,’ he said firmly. ‘We need a warrant. Now. For Jazz’s place. Tell him we’ve no time to go through the Fiscal, this is urgent, he’s to go straight to the JP, understood?’
‘Loud and clear,’ said West, slightly confused. ‘Silly question, I know, but… why?’
‘Och, come on, lassie, now you’re letting yourself down! Look, if Jazz was in cahoots with anyone, it’s not going to be MacAllister, is it? Why deal with the monkey when Gundersen’s the organ grinder? And mark my words, if Gundersen’s involved, then so are drugs.’
‘Okay, so we need to take a good look around before anyone has a chance to dump whatever it is we’re looking for?’
‘Hallelujah, she’s got it. Oh, we’ll need a Family Liaison Officer, too. This is going to knock his wife for six.’
* * *
West, incapable of standing still whilst talking on the phone, wandered around the yard before bounding back to Munro who, doubled-over the boot, was scrutinising the corpse with the diligence of a master forger inspecting his own handiwork.
‘Sorted,’ she said. ‘Dougal’s on the case and Duncan’s on his way over. What’re you looking at?’
‘Unless Jazz was having gender issues,’ said Munro, without looking up, ‘I’d say he was up to no good before he slipped this mortal coil.’
‘Now, who’s havering?’
‘Lipstick, Charlie. On his neck. And there’s a wee smudge on the corner of his mouth, too.’
‘Naughty boy, let’s have a look,’ said West, as she nudged Munro aside. ‘Ooh, it’s a sort of plummy colour. Tell you one thing, Jimbo, that doesn’t belong to his wife.’
‘Obviously. He’s not been home.’
‘Oh, yeah. But what I meant was…’
‘Don’t tell me. MacAllister.’
* * *
West, already buzzing due to the amount of adrenaline coursing through her veins rather than the usual mix of brown sauce and bacon fat, jumped back as the black Audi A4, its tail-end flailing like a fish out of water, screeched into the yard and headed straight for Munro, before careering to a heart-stopping halt inches from his legs.
‘Came as quick as I could,’ said Duncan, grinning as he leapt from the car.
‘So I see,’ said Munro, clearly unimpressed, ‘but this is Police Scotland, laddie, not Hawaii Five-O. You’d do well to remember that.’
‘Sorry, chief. So, what’s happening?’
‘It’s Jazz,’ said West, nodding towards the taxi, ‘he’s having a lie down in the boot.’
‘Oh dear. Not another one?’
‘Aye, and knowing my luck,’ said Munro, ‘he’ll not be the last. Okay, Duncan, you’re to remain here until forensics are done, got that? And while they’re keeping themselves busy, check with the office, find out if Jazz had exclusive rights to this vehicle or if anyone else used it within the last three days.’
‘Roger that, chief.’
‘Also, Jazz has a key to this yard. Check his pockets and get it dusted. It’s a long shot but it might let us know if he lent it to anyone. We’re away to his house just now. Charlie’s kindly volunteered to break the bad news to his wife.’
‘Thanks a bunch,’ said West. She stormed towards the car, snatching her phone as Munro trailed lamely in her wake.
‘Dougal?’
‘You’re good to go, miss. Warrant’s all sorted and the FLO will meet you there.’
‘Nice one, Dougal. Thanks.’
‘There’s something else you both should hear.’
‘Two ticks,’ said West as she waited for Munro to shut the door, ‘just waiting for the old man to buckle up. Okay, what have you got?’
‘It’s about Rietveld.’
‘Och, Dougal, we dinnae have time for that,’ said Munro, ‘we’re in a hurry.’
‘Trust me, sir, you’ll regret it if you don’t.’
‘Very well,’ he said, raising his eyebrows, ‘quick as you can.’
‘Okay,’ said Dougal, ‘you remember Rietveld was down as a no-show for the flight he booked? Well, I’ve gone through the passenger lists for all the other flights that day, and he’s not on any of them…’
‘For goodness sake, laddie, I’m losing the will to live, here.’
‘…but there was someone else travelling on the flight he missed. Lars Gundersen.’
West flinched and drew a short, sharp breath as a stony-faced Munro sat staring vacuously into space.
‘I knew it,’ he said, heaving a sigh.
‘Knew what?’
‘I knew I should have stayed in Carsethorn. Now we’ve got the Flying Dutchman to deal with, as well as Erik the Red.’
‘Not necessarily,’ said West, trying to ease the tension, ‘I mean, we don’t know for certain yet that the two of them are connected. Maybe it was just, you know…’
‘If you say coincidence, lassie, I really will head back to Carsethorn.’
‘Well, what the hell is Rietveld doing with Gundersen, anyway? It simply doesn’t make sense.’
‘Really?’ said Munro as he lowered the window and loosened his tie. ‘A drug dealer who makes a fortune from selling meth gets involved with a chap who’s passing himself off as a solicitor, with a track record in laundering the proceeds of stolen assets, and you think it doesnae make any sense?’
‘Well, if you put it like that,’ said West, ‘I suppose there’s an outside chance their relationship could be mutually beneficial. So. What now?’
Munro frowned and glanced towards the phone.
‘Dougal, are you still there?’ he said.
‘Sir.’
‘Okay, listen, I need to know if Gundersen’s ever been to Eindhoven before, or if this was a one-off. Get your pal, Klassen, to check with immigration. Do the same with Rietveld and see if he’s ever been to Oslo. That could be where he met Gundersen. Got that?’
‘Leave it to me.’
‘Not so fast. Dig out everything we have on Remo Carducci and Angus Buchanan from Companies House and their accountants. We need to know if Rietveld represented them in any way, then get yourself over to Hawkhill Avenue.’
‘Got to hand it you, Jimbo,’ said West as they pulled away, ‘it would’ve taken me ages to figure that out.’
‘Dinnae get your hopes up, lassie. If Rietveld is involved with Gundersen, and if Gundersen made the flight but Rietveld didn’t, then he’s probably dead meat.’
Chapter 13
Cursing the lack of shelter on the treeless Hawkhill Avenue, West – combining initiative with a liberal dose of bare-faced cheek – reversed into the neighbour’s drive and killed the engine, thankful for the shade of their ivy-clad carport.
‘Officially,’ said Munro with a wry smile, ‘you’re trespassing.’
‘I know, but that’s a civil offence,’ said West, ‘so what are they going to do about it?’
‘Well, some folk are tetchy about that kind of thing, la
ssie. You could find yourself blocked in.’
‘Then that would be a criminal offence – causing an obstruction and denial of access to a public highway and, being a cop, I can nick them straight away. It’s a win-win for the perp.’
‘Perhaps you’d like to explain that to her,’ said Munro, pointing out the woman in a fleece top and carrying a shoulder bag, locking the green Nissan Micra on the opposite side of the road and heading towards them.
‘Oh, blimey, that’s all I need,’ said West. ‘I’ll just say we were turning around. No harm done.’
Munro smiled apologetically as the tender-faced, young lady stopped by his door and bent forward.
‘DI Munro?’ she said, her voice as soft as velvet. ‘And DS West?’
‘Present and correct, lassie. And you must be…?’
‘PC Sue Hamilton. I’m the Family Liaison Officer.’
‘Of course you are. Jump in, Sue, we’re just waiting for young Dougal to arrive.’
‘That’s DC McCrae,’ said West, ‘he shouldn’t be long.’
‘No worries. Perhaps you’d like to fill me in while we wait?’
‘As much as I can,’ said West, swivelling in her seat, ‘can’t say too much, though, know what I mean?’
‘Of course.’
‘Right, Jasminder Banerjee, otherwise known as Jazz, owner of Kestrel Cars, found dead in the boot of one of his own taxis earlier this morning. He’ll be out of bounds until they’ve completed a post-mortem. Suspected murder, but keep that under your hat, okay?’
‘Okay.’
‘All his wife needs to know at this stage, is that he’s dead, and we’ll find out why in due course.’
‘No problem,’ said Sue, ‘is there anything you need to know? Anything I should be asking her?’
‘Yup. Sure is,’ said West. ‘See what you can find out about her husband’s whereabouts these last few days. What hours he was working, if there was a change to his normal pattern, coming home late, that kind of thing.’
‘Okay.’
‘And ask about his mates. See if he’d met anyone new or started drinking in a different pub, maybe.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ Sue said in her best bedside manner.
‘Her name’s Aletta,’ said Munro, ‘and it’ll come as no surprise to someone like yourself that she’s going to take this pretty hard. Thing is, Sue, we’ve a warrant to search the premises and I’m not in the mood for upsetting her further, so I’ll give you fifteen minutes, then you’re to take her off, is that okay?’
‘Aye, I can do that,’ said Sue, ‘if she agrees, that is. I can’t force her, though, you know that, don’t you?’
‘Yeah, we know,’ said West. ‘If she won’t go, I’ll have a word.’
‘Here comes Dougal,’ said Munro, as the whining pitch of a scooter on full throttle grew louder and louder.
‘And there goes Dougal,’ said West, as something shot past them in a blur.
* * *
Unlike the lady they’d inadvertently dragged from the shower a few hours earlier, Aletta – wearing a bright, orange dress with make-up to match – looked as radiant as summer itself.
‘He’s still not back,’ she said, smiling as though she’d swallowed the sun, ‘you should have taken Robbie’s address the last time you called, saved yourself a trip.’
‘Oh, we’ll not be needing it now,’ said Munro, with the subtlest of smiles.
‘You found him, then? Och, no wonder you’re detectives. Still blootered, no doubt?’
‘No, no. Sober as a judge, actually. Stone cold sober, you might say.’
Aletta dropped the smile and fixed PC Hamilton with a worried gaze.
‘You weren’t here this morning,’ she said, disconcerted by her presence, ‘who are you?’
‘My name’s Sue. I’m a Family Liaison Officer.’
‘A family…? I’ve seen them on the telly, they only… oh, Jesus.’
‘Shall we go inside, Aletta?’ said West, as she eased open the door. ‘It’s a bit more private in there.’
* * *
Munro retired to the shelter of the carport and perched himself on the bonnet of the Toyota as Dougal, scanning the houses for door numbers, pootled towards him.
‘I went too far,’ he said, as he hung his helmet on the wing mirror, ‘had to come back down again.’
‘I noticed,’ said Munro. ‘Are you not familiar with the phrase “twenty’s plenty”?’
‘I am, aye, but is this not an emergency?’
‘It is not.’
‘Honest mistake then.’
‘You’re getting as bad as Charlie,’ said Munro, with a smirk.
‘Where is she?’
‘Inside. Breaking the bad news with the FLO.’
‘Are you not joining her?’
‘No, no. Three’s a crowd. They’ll be leaving soon enough, then we can go inside.’
‘Okay,’ said Dougal, ‘just to let you know, I emailed Klassen and gave him the heads-up on Rietveld. I said there may be a body at the address in Oirschot.’
‘Let’s hope that there is, it’ll certainly make our life a lot easier. Have you not heard back from the lab yet?’
‘Sometime today, apparently. But I’m not holding my breath.’
* * *
A solemn-faced Munro watched as an inconsolable Aletta – her eyes black with tear-stained mascara – clung to PC Hamilton as she crossed the street with the agility of an octogenarian suffering from osteoporosis.
‘Right, that’s them away,’ he said morosely, as he ambled over to West, waiting on the doorstep. ‘No need to ask how she took it.’
‘Gutted,’ said West. ‘That Gundersen’s got a lot to answer for.’
‘Aye, right enough, but he’ll get what’s coming to him. Eventually.’
‘Will he hell,’ said West, venomously. ‘Even if we do nail him, he’ll still be out before teatime. I’d like to wring his bloody neck and squeeze every last drop of…’
‘Dear, dear, dear,’ said Munro, ‘and there was I thinking that after your spiritual retreat you’d learned the power of forgiveness, Charlie.’
‘Are you winding me up?’
‘Do you not believe in karma? It’s a lot less messy.’
‘No, Jimbo. I’m rapidly becoming a believer in the law of talion.’
‘I’ve a leaflet at home about anger management. Remind me to pass it on to you. So, where are they headed?’
‘They’re off to see her brother, Robbie. He’ll be in for a shock too.’
‘No doubt about that, Charlie. No doubt at all. Did you ask her about the sunglasses?’
‘Yup. Said she hadn’t even noticed them. Reckons they must belong to Jazz, or someone left them in the back of his taxi.’
‘That’s not all they left. And MacAllister’s not been here?’
‘Never. Not so far as she knows.’
* * *
Furnished with a three-piece suite, a coffee table, and an obtrusively large television which sat like a shrine to banality in the bay window, the lounge – devoid of books, pictures and the usual keepsakes that accumulate over the years – had about as much charm as the departure lounge of a small provincial airport.
‘They’re not one for clutter, are they?’ said Munro, curling his lip at the plastic lilies in the boarded-up fireplace.
‘Not everyone likes to live surrounded by tat, Jimbo,’ said West as she made herself at home on the sofa. ‘I believe it’s called feng shui.’
‘Really? I thought it was Ikea.’
‘If you two have quite finished,’ said Dougal, standing by the door like the uninvited guest at a house-warming, ‘would someone mind telling me why we’re here?’
‘Sorry,’ said West, ‘it’s Jazz. We’re pretty damned certain he was force-fed an unhealthy dose of meth, which is why he ended up in the same state as Angus Buchanan.’
‘Okay.’
‘And we’ve a hunch that he was peddling it for Gundersen, probably out of hi
s taxi.’
‘So, you reckon he’s got a stash about the place?’
‘We’re not positive,’ said Munro, ‘but, aye, it’s a possibility. If he has, it’ll not be much, enough for a few days, maybe, which makes it easier to hide, and harder to find. So, Charlie, you start down here, then the kitchen – under the cupboards, behind the drawers, in the cereal boxes. Dougal, you and me, upstairs.’
* * *
Dougal, having exhausted the minimal amount of possible hiding places in the bathroom – from the toilet cistern and the bath panel, to the air vent and the lamp shade – joined Munro in the bedroom.
‘Nothing there, sir,’ he said. ‘How about you? Any luck?’
‘No,’ said Munro, despondently. ‘I’ve been through everything – wardrobe, chest of drawers, divan, even the pillow cases.’
‘Well, it was only a hunch, they don’t always pay off.’
‘Mine do, laddie. Rest assured. Mine do. Right, downstairs. Let’s start again.’
* * *
Munro stood in the centre of the lounge, one hand behind his back, and slowly turned full circle, frowning as he meticulously scoured the room from top to bottom, looking for signs that the carpet may have been lifted, the skirting removed, or even a plug point capped off.
‘This is actually quite a nice house,’ said Dougal, ‘if you can see past the décor, that is. Or should I say, the lack of it.’
‘I’m inclined to agree,’ said Munro, only half listening.
‘Aye. Be better with proper sash windows, though, not those plastic jobbies. And if they opened up the fire, this place would be nice and toasty in the winter.’
Munro froze, glanced at Dougal, and stepped towards the fireplace, easing himself down to the hearth and slowly running his index finger around the edge of the piece of wood sealing off the firebox.
‘Upstairs. Bedroom,’ he said, smiling as he made for the door.
* * *
Munro positioned himself by the window and pointed at the fireplace.
‘Look at that and tell me what you see,’ he said. ‘Take your time, laddie, consider the detail, and no facetious remarks.’
‘Okay, said Dougal, nervously, as he squatted by the bed. ‘Tiled surround. Cast iron grate. Ceramic vase. Not sure what kind of flowers these are though.’
‘Tulips. Go On.’
TERMINUS: A thrilling police procedural set in Scotland (Detective Inspector Munro murder mysteries Book 5) Page 10